


Dual Wield

by ellipsometry



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Double Penetration, Fantasizing, Masturbation, Swordfucking, Trans Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Weapons Kink, is that not a tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:41:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26277325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellipsometry/pseuds/ellipsometry
Summary: Felix feels too big for his body, already out of breath from anticipation, sweaty from the humidity.  He hurries to get his armor and cloak off, tugging at the collar of his turtleneck, the fabric already sticking to his skin.  He’s itchy, tense – and the second his hands wrap around one of the pristine sword grips, all that tension seeps away.  Calm settles into his bones, and Felix has to prop himself up against the edge of the mattress as his knees go weak.Fuck.This is what he was looking for.  Nothing else can give this to him.Felix enjoys his new swords.
Comments: 10
Kudos: 134





	Dual Wield

**Author's Note:**

> a kmeme fill for [ this prompt!](https://3houseskinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/1608.html?thread=2768712#cmt2768712)  
> find me on twit [@ellipsotiddy](https://twitter.com/ellipsotiddy)
> 
> (NOTE: trans fe, both amab and afab terms used)

The package feels heavy in Felix’s hands, a weight pulling him deeper underwater with each step. It’s a blessing the blacksmith didn’t seem to notice the heady that must have colored Felix’s face, his hands reaching eagerly to hold the bundle _close_ to his chest as soon as it’s handed over, hazy-eyed as he scrambled for the purse on his hip, handing over the agreed-upon price and a hefty tip to match for his troubles. Nothing but a _thank you, come again_ and Felix is on his way, too-heavy steps from the marketplace to the dormitories, panting under the effort of climbing the stairs to his room.

Empty. So wonderfully empty.

The circumstances aren’t quite so rosy. The reason Dimitri and Sylvain and the rest of the second-floor occupants are missing is a reconnaissance mission right over the Imperial border. Felix is tagged to stay behind and receive troops from Fraldarius and begin their training. As much as he loathes sending Sy—his friends to the front lines alone, he has confidence they’ll return alive.

And besides—

Felix lays the package down on his bed, carefully unwrapping the oil-greased fabric to reveal his new weapons: a pair of swords and a fresh dagger. All three with sturdy, thick pommels, polished metal shining. They have small ridges near the bottom and a divot in the center, but are otherwise smooth. Unusual, the blacksmith had said to Felix. But he crafts them all the same.

Felix feels too big for his body, already out of breath from anticipation, sweaty from the humidity. He hurries to get his armor and cloak off, tugging at the collar of his turtleneck, the fabric already sticking to his skin. He’s itchy, tense – and the second his hands wrap around one of the pristine sword grips, all that tension seeps away. Calm settles into his bones, and Felix has to prop himself up against the edge of the mattress as his knees go weak.

 _Fuck_. This is what he was looking for. Nothing else can give this to him.

Felix scrambles up onto the mattress, careful as he moves the swords, deadly blades still snug in their sheaths. His fingers are trembling – from excitement, now, rather than nervous anticipation. He’s done this before, in fits and starts. At first, it’s just this: a frustration, his fingers not able to reach deep enough, slipping against his hole, unsatisfying and clumsy. And the pommel of his killing edge is tempting, glinting at Felix from across the room. He doesn’t even fuck himself, not the first few times – just lets the bulbous end of the grip sit inside his hole as he rubs his dick furiously, biting down noises with the corner of a pillow stuffed in his mouth.

But there’s no need to be quiet anymore – and the reality bubbles up in his chest, until he’s giddy with it, light-headed, shuffling across the bed to grab the oil from his nightstand, tugging down his pants and smalls until they bunch at the tops of his boots. 

He has all the time in the world, and still he’s rushing; falling back against the pillows of his bed, slicking up his hand, fingering himself briskly. Not that it takes much for his hole to open, fingers sliding through wet folds like a hot knife through butter; he’s wet enough that it’s already dripping onto the sheets, a conspicuous stain he’ll have to launder out himself. Never mind, never mind.

“Shit—” Felix hisses, back arching up, finally kicking his boots off so he can pull his legs tight against his chest. Like this he can reach his ass, wet fingers slipping against the dry pucker of it, teasing the rim, circling the hole lightly. It’s too much to just sink his finger in without preparation, but Felix does it anyway, groaning at the stretch, the sweet heat of it. He fucks himself like that for a minute, panting with the effort of keeping his legs up and spread. He tries for another finger – too soon, but he forces it in beside his middle finger, reaching for the oil, drizzling it haphazardly against the hot stretch of his rim where his fingers are half-sunk in to the knuckle.

Nothing else burns like this – not the wounds he gets on the battlefield, none of the stinging barbs he trades with the other generals, nothing. Felix could drown in this feeling, the small helplessness, the indulgence he would never allow himself otherwise. _A killjoy_ , they call him – Felix, who can’t enjoy sweets or a pint of sour beer. Can’t go out for a night with friends without turning the topic back to training, or the war, or battle plans. He feels so _consumed_ by it, the need to be prepared, the wheels always turning in his head.

Now, he fills himself and lets his mind go empty.

Felix is almost salivating as he grabs for the first sword, coating the smooth, thick pommel in oil before lowering to his dripping hole and – _Shit._ It feels amazing, his hole taking it in greedily, that gentle slide as he feeds the grip inside. He shivers at the cool metal against his heated skin, and when his clit bumps up against the guard, his hips buck up like he’s just been shot with a thoron blast.

“F-Fuck…” Felix lets out a shuddering breath, hiking his leg up further so he can watch himself, see the obscene way the sword, still snug in its sheath, sticks out from his cunt. His dick is _throbbing,_ massive and red where it sticks out from a nest of wiry black hair. Felix tweaks it once, twice, already woozy from the way his hole clenches tight around the sword’s hilt.

His fingers pull away shaking, and his clit flexes in the cold, empty air – can’t come too soon, can’t have this be over so quickly.

He starts slowly, gripping the sword guard tight to pull the pommel out, then back in, building a steady rhythm. His hips fall down to meet the sword, bumping his clit up against the hilt with each thrust, and Felix doesn’t hold back the small, wet noises that drip from his mouth, increasing in volume as he fucks himself faster, more desperately. Oiled fingers slip against the leather of the sheath, and he babbles to himself, imagining strong hands holding him down, fucking him like this with something bigger, thicker, hotter. _Fuck me, fuck me, use me, fill me up – I need it – fuck!_

 _Stop –_ Felix’s ironclad willpower kicks in, and he stops all at once, fingers stuttering on the blade. Need rolls through him like a wave, a flush of blood down his body, pulling him taut and needy. Felix _whines_ , loud enough that it echoes around the room, bouncing off cold stone walls, the noise rattling around in his head.

He feels like he’s just trained for hour, salt-soaked and out of breath.

“Okay— _Fuck_ , okay, okay—” Felix’s hands skitter up his chest, through the small trails of sweat that run across his abs, and he tweaks his nipples, calloused thumbs rolling across the small, sensitive areolas, the inverted buds still hidden inside. He’s not patient enough to coax them out – _Felix, you’re so sensitive here,_ an imaginary figure in his mind whispers, hot and rough in his ear. _So shy, but so needy, aren’t they?_

Felix pinches hard at his right nipple, and gasps when the small nipple pops out, hardening in the cold air. “Sh— _Shit._ ” One more flick, mean, painful, and Felix’s voice catches in his throat. _Not the fucking time for this_ , he thinks, even as he feels his hole clenches tight, dripping at the extra attention to his tits.

No. He has an _agenda_ to get to.

Carefully, Felix pulls the sword handle from his hole, groaning at the way the pommel almost refuses to come out, hole still mouthing sweetly at it like a lover. It pulls out with an obscene _pop!_ and Felix lets himself steady his breathing before he rolls over to his front, pulling himself up on his hands and knees.

 _This_ is the perfect angle, Felix thinks, propping the sheathed tip of the sword against the bed, angling it _just so_ , until the pommel kisses his hole once more. Like this, he can impale himself back on it, a shallow but delicious drag, and the bounce of his body feels so filthy that every hair on Felix’s body is on end, and he squeezes his eyes shut and just rocks back and forth. _Yeah, fuck yourself on it,_ the voice says. _I want to see how much you need it._

“I need it, I need it—” Felix whimpers. To the voice, to himself, to no one in particular – it sets his skin alight just to _say_ it, to let himself becomes to undone, so let his untied hair stick to his neck and the drool drip from the swell of his bottom lip and not fucking _worry_ about what comes next. To just use and be used. _Need it, need it, need it,_ he chants like a prayer, rocking back on his sword as a fresh wave of want rolls through him.

One shaking hand reaches out to the other two blades – hesitates, for just a moment, before grasping the dagger. Its hard for Felix to oil it up like this, with his body perched so precariously on the propped-up sword, but he manages, and when he reaches back to slide the hilt of the long dagger up and down the crease of his ass, cold pommel hitting the hot rim of his hole, a new shock shoots up his spine.

“Shit—Okay, c’mon,” Felix grits his teeth and tries to steady his hand to prod the greased-up knob of the pommel against the pucker of his ass. He’s tight here, probably _too_ tight, but he bears down regardless, longing for that stretch, for the deep, stomach-clenching ache that he’ll be feeling for days afterwards.

(The first time Felix fucks his ass, three slicked-up fingers curled deep, teeth sunk into his forearm, he comes so hard he passes out. And horseback riding the next day is an _experience_ , to say the least.)

“A-Ah!” The pommel pops in all at once, and Felix gasps, head dropping down against the mattress. He lets it sit there, adjusting to the stretch, grinding back on the other sword. He can _feel_ it, feel the two sword handles moving against each other inside him, just a thin membrane of skin between them.

“S-So- _So_ —Please, it’s s-so much—” he’s babbling now, speaking to that imagined lover – _lovers, plural_ , his mind supplies – thinks of them running hands across his back, soothing him as they inch inside. And Felix mirrors his imagination with his hand, slowly feeding the dagger hilt into his needy hole, feeling it unfurl as he bears down, swallowing the chilled metal eagerly.

Felix clenches involuntarily, and the final inch of the grip slides inside him all at once without preamble, slipping through his greased fingers, and the air is punched out of his lungs – he exhales hard, upper body collapsing against the bed as he shakes. 

_Fuck—Fuck!_ It’s a strange, uncomfortable feeling – frightening, almost, the way his hole clenches eagerly, trying to pull more of the sword inside, stopped only by the hilt of the handle hitting up against his ass. His heart beats rabbit-quick, breath coming out in hot pants.

_You needed two? What a whore._

“N-No…” Felix whines, even as he reaches to fix the angle of the first sword, still sunk deep in his cunt, rocking back on shaking knees.

_Your ass is plugged up so nicely, though. Wish you could see._

“Stop, _stop_ ,” Felix whines through gritted teeth, even as the gentle roll of his body asks for _more, more, more_ , small, wet noises reaching his ears as the grip fucks into his hole, handle hitting his dick just enough to send a spark up his spine, bring him up to the edge of orgasm – but not quite enough to send him tumbling over that cliff.

It’s nonsense, but like this Felix swears he can almost taste metal.

 _Why don’t you?_ The voice asks, a familiar teasing lilt. And Felix nods, reaches blindly for the third sword. What did he need three for, _fuck_ , what was he even thinking—

_Sweetheart, plug up that noisy mouth, why don’t you?_

“Fu- _fuck_ you—” Felix hisses, even as he mouths desperately at the sword’s sheathe, the delicate, soft pink of his mouth just a hair’s breadth away from deadly steel. What he wouldn’t give to run his tongue along the dangerous edge; instead, he licks sloppily along covered blade, tasting leather and oil and something else – smoke, maybe. The thick scent of it settles heavy in his head, until he’s buzzing with it.

Felix has never sucked a cock, so it’s all instinct when he wraps his lips around the sword’s pommel, letting the smooth metal rest against his tongue. The angle is odd, but he manages, head cocked to the side. _Strange,_ he thinks. Strange because it feels like nothing – at least until he bobs his head further down experimentally and _oh_. He gags, harsh, as the pommel hits the shallow back of his throat, and a wave of saliva falls from his lips as he spits the handle out.

_So sloppy. You can do better than that, can’t you? Imagine it’s me._

“I won’t,” Felix mutters, even as he tries again, a sickening _gluck gluck gluck_ noise as he fucks the handle into his throat, drool falling down his chin, down the smooth grip of the sword. 

It doesn’t feel good, not like the swords filling him up, but Felix can’t help but _want_ – want to be useful, want to be used. He kisses up the sheathe of the sword and finds himself envying it, wanting told that deadly force tight himself, wield it for his own pleasure as deftly as he wields it on the battlefield.

“I can’t— _Goddess—_ ” Felix feels assaulted at all ends, ass clenching desperately at the dagger still plugging him up, holding him open; hole dripping hot and wet onto the bedsheets as he ruts back. If he spreads his knees just a bit more – _yes, fuck, that’s it._ The sword handle hits the spot inside Felix that has him gasping out, small breathy noises as he fucks himself with erratic, stuttering movements. He’s so close now, sensitive nipples rubbing against the bed, and all he needs is _just a bit more, please, fuck me, just a bit more and I’ll—_

Felix comes apart with a wail, body tensing up, toes curling and scrambling at the sheets as he struggles to hold himself upright through his orgasm, back hunched and trembling. He must look a mess, like a desperate, ugly thing. And still he _wants –_ wants someone to stumble in on him like this, to whisper cruel words in his ear, tell him he’s _dirty_ and _used_. He wants that as much as he wants someone to clean him and hold him and kiss him goodnight.

A small sob bubbles up in his throat, and Felix doesn’t try to stop the tears when they come. And finally, when the aftershocks stop roiling through him, Felix carefully pulls the sword from his hole, the dagger from his ass, and lets himself go boneless against the new wet spot on his bed.

_You did beautifully, sweetheart._

“Fuck off,” Felix tells the voice. Some things are beautiful – a sunset, probably. A freshly-sharpened blade. The calm of a battlefield when all is won. Felix isn’t beautiful.

_Respectfully, I disagree._

Whatever. Felix is done arguing with voices in his head. He has laundry to do, swords to clean, and a long visit to the sauna is overdue. 

For now, though, he lets his heavy eyelids fall shut, and falls into a satisfied, dreamless sleep.


End file.
